


You Owe Me

by Morgana



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Tony Stark Does What He Wants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6752302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is a shit. This is known. But like a Lannister, he pays his debts, each and every one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morefiercethanfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morefiercethanfire/gifts).



> For the kidlet, who wanted Avengers' domestic fluff for his berferday as a panacea to the angst that we know we're going to be walking into on Friday. Happy birthday, kid - hope you like it!

He started with the bottom of a hoagie roll, slathered with sweet hot mustard, followed by some crisp green leaf lettuce and a thick layer of ham. Then precisely three slices of cheddar cheese (the good Tillamook stuff in the resealable bag, not the crap storebrand kind), another thick layer of ham, and half a tomato, cleanly sliced. Finished off with the top of the roll, spread with an even layer of mayo, and he had himself a Sandwich of Awesome™.

Clint paused for a moment to appreciate his work of art, mouth watering as he anticipated that first, perfect bite. “We’re gonna have a great night,” he told his sandwich, right before it - disappeared? What the hell?

He whipped around to see his perfect sandwich clutched in Tony Stark’s grubby, oil-stained fingers. “Hey!”

“You always talk to your food?” Tony asked, right before he took a big bite. He moaned and closed his eyes. “Not that I blame you, cause damn, that’s -”

“A work of art,” Clint said mournfully, unable to tear his eyes away from the destruction. Goddammit, everyone knew Stark only ate to keep himself from starving! He couldn’t possibly appreciate the artistry that went into something like that!

“Mmmmph,” Tony agreed, his mouth too full of awesome to really form words. “I just might have to agree with you on that.”

Clint scowled at him. “A work of art that _I_ made,” he reminded Tony pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at him.

All that earned him was a self-satisfied smirk. “And you do good work, buddy,” Tony assured him. “Trust me, if I ever decide to let Jefferson go, I’ll definitely keep you in mind.”

“How about we settle on agreeing that you owe me one instead?” Clint suggested. “And I’m not talking about Jimmy John’s or anything like that.” If he was going to be robbed of his Sandwich of Awesome™, he fully intended to make Stark pay for it.

Tony considered that for a moment, then nodded. “You got it. I owe you one.” He took another big bite and turned around, waving a hand over his shoulder, no doubt heading back to his workshop for another fourteen or fifteen hours.

Clint sighed and looked back at the counter. At least he hadn’t put anything away yet. “This time I’m licking the bread before I start,” he muttered as he set about starting work on a second masterpiece. And Tony owed him, so that had to be worth something, probably something pretty good, given Stark Industry’s net worth and technological assets.

Yeah, he was definitely getting something good.

At least, that’s what he thought until he walked into the kitchen about a week later to find the world’s freakiest diorama waiting for him. A whole bunch of huge foam hands, all proclaiming themselves to be #1, in a variety of colors, were spread out around the kitchen. It took him a minute to put it all together, but finally it all sank in - the purple one with the bow leaning against his coffee cup, that was him, while the red one with the knife taped to it, that was Nat, and then there was the red one with a little hammer and the blue one with an American flag and - yep, that was a red and gold one taped to the overhead light. And clinging to the cabinet door was a bright green one that was twice as big as all the others. Clint sighed and yelled, “That wasn’t the kind of _one_  I was talking about, Tony!”


	2. Chapter 2

The elevator doors at Stark Towers never hissed when they slid open. Tony would have considered that an affront to his mechanical skills - if he could manage an AI system that could run the entire tower, he could damn well ensure that the elevator doors opened soundlessly. Of course, there were downsides to that that he hadn’t exactly considered.

Downsides like turning around and suddenly being confronted by a small, red-headed omen of death. A very imminent death, if the look in her eyes was anything to go by. “I didn’t do it,” Tony immediately said, getting right to business. No matter what ‘it’ was, timely denials of guilt were always a good idea.

“Didn’t do what?” Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Uh, whatever it is that has you looking like you need to hurt me?”

She smiled sweetly. “I don’t need a reason to want to hurt you, Stark. And I’m pretty sure the half of the Western Hemisphere you’ve slept with would agree with me.”

“Hey!” he objected, more for the sake of objection and putting off the looming beatdown than for anything else.

She just glared at him. “As it so happens, in this instance, it wasn’t you directly.” Her glower shifted about six inches to his left, and Tony heard a mechanical whine that he was all too familiar with.

He sighed and did his best not to look too chagrinned. “You _do_ realize that he’s a robot, right? And whatever he did, he was probably trying to help?”

Natasha folded her arms across her chest. “Uh-huh. And just what kind of help do you think he was planning on offering me when he sprayed that stupid fire extinguisher over every last bit of makeup I bought at Sephora last week?”

Oh boy. Tony had enough experience with women to realize that Sephora was one of those religious things. “I’ll replace it,” he said quickly.

“Every bit of it,” she ground out, although she didn’t stop looking like she planned on grabbing the nearest wrench and taking DUM-E apart bolt by bolt.

“And I owe you?” he offered, hoping against hope that it might be enough to save his bot, if not his balls.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed and she studied him for a long moment before she bit out, “Big time,” turned on her heel, and stalked off, leaving Tony to let out a long, relieved breath. He immediately sent DUM-E off to his corner.

And began plotting.

Four nights later, Natasha had just gotten out of the shower and was looking forward to a rare night in with House of Cards and Chinese food when her doorbell chimed. That was unusual - usually JARVIS announced deliveries or visitors, but she supposed it was possible that Tony had him busy in the workshop or loaded in the suit for a test drive. Pulling her robe on, she headed for the door, grabbing cash for the delivery boy on the way.

Except that the person on the doorstep wasn’t Mitch or Liang. “Uh, hi,” he said, glancing down at the paper and the Sephora bag in his hands. “I’m Chris Noth. My agent said there was an audition here...?”

He looked up at her, his smile sliding from uncertain to charming and rakish as he took in the bathrobe and that’s when it clicked. Chris Noth. Mr Big. Natasha didn’t bother to close the door, just snatched the bag and yelled, “STARK!”


End file.
